


Death's Siblings

by mytimeconsumingsidehobby



Series: Death's Siblings [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimeconsumingsidehobby/pseuds/mytimeconsumingsidehobby
Summary: Harry Potter is the Master of Death, and Time and Fate cannot tell Death what to do.
Series: Death's Siblings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990276
Comments: 15
Kudos: 188





	Death's Siblings

Harry looked down at his arm. Apparently getting bit by a basilisk wasn’t going to kill him, because of course it wasn’t. Nothing ever went the way it was supposed to around him, and it seemed like death was included on that list.

“Sorry, Death,” he muttered. “Maybe next time.”

“Oh, should I come back later then, little Master?” A voice rang out.

So maybe death wasn’t on the table, but hallucinations were. Great. It wasn’t like he had heard enough voices this year or anything.

“Uh, hello?” _Yes, great plan, Harry_ , he thought to himself. _Maybe this voice won’t try to kill you like the last couple did._

“Hello, little one,” the voice said, a… well, he didn’t know quite what to call it… a thing (being?), of some kind appearing before him.

“Who are you?”

The being looked surprised. Maybe. It was a little hard to tell.

“I am the one you call Death.”

Harry didn’t have any response for that. Maybe he really was dying. Or dead. Except he had better not be a ghost because Myrtle would try to make him share her toilet and that was _not_ going to happen, and…

“You called me,” the being said helpfully.

Well at least he could stop thinking about Myrtle for a moment.

“Sorry, I what?”

“Oh, I apologize, Master, did you not? I thought I heard you.” Death, since apparently Harry’s luck extended to somehow conversing with the physical manifestation of Death, said, looking confused. How was he able to see that? It wasn’t like there were clearly defined facial features like he was used to on, you know, _people_.

“Sorry, what did you call me?” Harry asked, latching on to the easiest question at the moment that didn’t involve deciphering Death’s facial expressions.

“Master?” Death said tentatively. “Is there something I ought to call you instead?”

“Well, er, my name is Harry?” It was, so he wasn’t sure why he said it like a question. Oh, maybe because he was still not sure whether he was dead or not, seeing as he had been bitten by a basilisk and was now apparently talking to Death. Sure Fawkes had tried to help, but maybe it hadn’t worked.

“I know,” Death said simply, bringing Harry’s full attention back once more to the strange conversation he was having.

He waited for… her? But she didn’t seem to have anything else to add.

“Sorry, still not clear on that bit. Why are you calling me Master?” Silently he begged to himself, _please let this be a mistake, please let this be a mistake…_

“You are my master,” Death said, sounding proud somehow.

“Um, why? Or, how? Or just… _what_?”

Death sighed. Again with the expressions. “Well you haven’t gathered the hallows, so you aren’t yet, but you will be I suppose. But it doesn’t matter, because Time can’t tell me what to do.”

Harry thought Death sounded remarkably like Ron complaining about Percy. He decided he didn’t want to venture down that path of questioning.

“So you mean I’m somehow going to become your master when I’m older?” That did not bode well for his ideal future of becoming a nice, normal wizard and fading into oblivion.

“Yes. I suppose you could look at it that way. But you are my master.”

“So, like fate?” Harry wasn’t exactly loving where this was going.

“Absolutely not!” Death yelled.

Harry thought there must be some truth to what she was saying because he was certain he would have been dead from that outburst otherwise. It was a rather powerful one.

“Fate has absolutely _no_ control over me, and just because she’s a bossy little…”

Here Death paused, looked at him strangely, and then continued on.

“Well she can’t tell me what to do either.”

“Is there anyone who can?” Harry asked, because sure, risk upsetting the already upset entity. Why not.

“Just you,” Death said with a grin. She actually managed to look happy at that statement.

Harry did not share the sentiment.

He took a fortifying breath. “So what does this mean for me, exactly?”

“You are my master,” Death said.

Harry tried another approach. “So what do I need to do then?”

“Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here? You did call, you know.”

Harry stared at Death. Any other day this probably be a much more disconcerting conversation, but honestly after everything that just happened (and the fact that the basilisk was dead not ten feet from where Death… hovered), this might as well happen too.

“Yeah, well, I thought the diary thing was gong to kill Ginny, and I thought the basilisk was going to kill me, and maybe it did, but Fawkes healed it so maybe I’m still alive.”

“Of course you are, silly,” Death chided. “No one can kill the Master of Death.”

Huh. Well that would certainly explain a few things.

Did that mean he was invincible? Well, not that, since his scars showed otherwise. So, just death invincible? Was he immortal? That might not actually be such a great thing, come to think of it…

“Who’s such a good bird. Yes you are such a good bird.”

Harry was drawn out of his thoughts by the sight of Death cooing at Fawkes, who looked as if he were thoroughly enjoying the attention being lavished on him.

“Fawkes likes you?”

Death continued to stroke under the phoenix’s beak. “Of course. Phoenixes are mine.”

“But they can’t die,” Harry said. “Wouldn’t you hate things that can’t die?”

“Not at all,” Death said, still not turning away from the bird. “Only things that try to cheat.”

“There’s a way to do that?”

Death turned around finally and scowled. “Of course there is. Magic is so naive. Of _course_ wizards would use her gifts to seek things such as that, but she always believes the best of them. Gives so much to those that would use it to cheat the rest of us.”

“Us?”

“My sisters and I,” Death said.

“You have sisters?”

“Yes, don’t you remember me saying that? There are the twins, Fate and Destiny, except Destiny is a little nicer sometimes, and Time, and Magic, and all the other ones.”

“All the other ones?” He was already invested in this. Might as well ask.

Death just waved him off. “They’re not important right now.”

Harry would take her word for it. “So you’re upset at Magic because wizards use magic to cheat… the rest of you?”

“I’m not upset at Magic,” Death said, though her tone did nothing to convince Harry. “I’m just upset that she thinks her witches and wizards are so perfect. And then she goes and gives so much to ones like… _that_ ,” she said, pointing to the destroyed diary, “and they go and ruin everything.”

“So, you know what that is?” Harry asked, gesturing to the diary as well.

“Stupid horcrux,” Death said. “All it does is mess up the soul.”

“A what?”

“A horcrux,” Death said. “The part of his soul he put in that book. Like the one in your forehead.”

Harry felt a little sick at that. Maybe it was the basilisk venom. Or maybe it was that fact that Death was saying he had a _piece of Voldemort’s soul stuck in his forehead_.

Quite possibly the last one.

“Can I get it out?” He asked. He wasn’t panicking. He really wasn’t.

“Would you like it out?” Death asked.

“ _Yes_.”

Death raised a hand, or her closest equivalent, and Harry felt a burning in his head, one far worse than he had ever experienced around Quirrell.

Finally it was over. He felt he had rather had enough of pain and injury for the evening. He _had_ to have met some sort of quota by this point.

“Would you like me to take care of the rest of them or would you like to leave them?”

“Sorry, the rest of what?”

“His horcruxes,” Death replied, as if that weren’t a completely horrific thought.

“Voldemort made _more_?” Harry asked. “How do you even make one?”

“Murder,” Death said without any particular emotion.

Now Harry felt very sick. “And what about the rest of him?”

“Would you like me to take care of that as well?” Death asked.

Well, Harry wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Yes, please.”

“As you wish, little Master,” Death said with a slight bow before disappearing.

Harry stared at the spot for a while, before remembering that Ginny was still there and he should probably do something about that.

“Did that really just happen?” he asked to Fawkes, the only other conscious thing in the room at the moment.

The phoenix trilled, and Harry felt something along the lines of “of course it did, you silly child.” Actually, it was very distinctly those words, but that would mean he had understood Fawkes, and he had had enough of hearing voices for now, and possibly forever, thank you very much.

“We are both Death’s,” maybe-Fawkes, maybe-hallucination-round-two said in his mind. “Of course you can hear me.”

Harry stared the bird down. “So can we get out of here sometime?”

As if right on cue, Ginny stirred. He probably should have paid attention to her earlier, but in his defense, he had been maybe dead/talking to Death at the time.

Hopefully he could go to sleep and this would all go away in the morning.

Yes. That would be nice.


End file.
